


Alone

by Soumarti



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Headcanons gallore, Loneliness, No Proof Reading we die like Men, Oneshot, Wilson has a bad time, i guess?, slight mental breakdown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:48:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24806461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soumarti/pseuds/Soumarti
Summary: Wilson is beginning to understand that there are two different types of people in the world. Those who choose to alone and seek out their own peace, and those who have been forced by circumstances beyond their control to be alone, and have convinced themselves that they enjoy their loneliness.And he's starting to think that he is part of the latter group.
Relationships: Willow/Wilson (Don't Starve)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 39





	Alone

Wilson was alone.

To be fair, he has been alone for most, if not all of his life, so he supposed he should be used to it by now. Which, now that he though about it, sounded a bit sad. But, it goes without question that at this very moment, Wilson was very much alone.

It had been an accident really. It was Autumn again in the Constant, and so while the good weather held, and with the hounds having already been dealt with that week, the group of survivors had decided to split up and explore more of the areas further afield from where they had made their base. Wilson had gone with Willow, Wolfgang and, with only a slight argument on both their parts, Maxwell. They had gone East, past the savanna and the beefalo that resided there, and towards the forest that lay just beyond. 

The trees had been a wide range of colours, from vibrant reds, yellows and oranges, to more lush greens. Wilson had been busy updating the map that Wickerbottom had given him, when he had bounced off of Wolfgang, who had suddenly stopped in front of him. He had caught himself before he had fallen, and then looked around the large man, about to ask why he had stopped. The words had quickly died in his throat when he saw what was asleep on the path ahead of him.

A Bearger.

The beast was asleep, its breath moving the grass and bushes as it snored. It had clearly been in a fight recently, and was trying to sleep off its injuries, as Wilson spied a number of bloody cuts and grazes along the creatures arms and face. And the thought of something even bigger hurting something like a Bearger had made his mouth go dry. So, it definitely wouldn't have been a good idea to wake the beast.

And yet.

As their small group had attempted to go back the way they had come as quietly as possible, Wigfrid had burst out from the brush yelling at the top of her lungs as she always did, about how her and Wickerbottom had spotted a strange new island when they had made it to the cliffs to the north. And, before he knew it, Wilson and his group were running from a very tired and pissed off Bearger.

Acting quickly, Willow had yelled at Wigfrid to lead them to Wickerbottom and Woodie, as they would all have a better chance of taking down the creature together, and so Wilson had found himself desperately chasing after the viking, Wolfgang and Willow ahead of him, and Maxwell cursing his rotten luck to his left. Eventually, they had burst out of the forest into a meadow, with the Bearger following not far behind, its heavy footsteps and its bellowing a constant reminder to keep moving. Wilson had started to fall behind, his body screaming at him to stop or slow down. And then, without warning, he found himself struck in the side and sent flying as the beast had swiped at him with its great claws.

All of a sudden, he had found himself laying on the ground, trying to take stock of what had just happened, and desperately trying to get the world to stop spinning. He had heard yelling behind him, and then a great roar, before the earth under him had started to shift and break apart. Then, he had felt the world fall away from him, and he had plummeted.

And now, he was here.

He wasn't entirely sure where 'here' was other than underground, but at the very least, he was alive. For now anyway. God, when had his standards dropped so completely that when something bad happened, him just being alive was due a celebration? Probably not long after getting brought to the Constant, but now wasn't the time to think about that. He needed to think about what he was going to do next.

When he had fallen, Wilson had been lucky enough to stay conscious when he hit the ground, so he had been able to scramble for the torch he kept in his bag before Charlie had been able to get him. Though, now that the adrenaline was wearing off, a great number of aches and pains were making themselves know all over his body, and after a quick examination, Wilson had found three claw marks that had ripped straight through his waistcoat and shirt, and had dug a good way into his side. Not to mention the most definitely fractured rips from his landing. Thankfully, he had packed some spider glands and silk just in case something like this happened. 

And now, he sat in front of a hastily built fire, his wounds tended to, and he was alone.

He looked up at the cave ceiling, for probably the hundredth time in the past however long he'd been in the cave, and, yep, the crevasse where he had fallen was still blocked. Wilson huffed, and shifted gently so that his legs were crossed underneath him, and he waited. After all, his friends were probably just above his head, most likely fighting the Bearger, or they may have already defeated it, and were now just trying to find a way to get to him. So, he waited. It wouldn't be a good idea to move too far from where he fell, when they did come to get him. So, he deduced, it was best for him to stay put.

So, that's he did.

He tried to distract himself from his dingy and damp surroundings, by thinking of new inventions and items he could make to improve life around their base. He had been thinking of making something he proudly called the "Shadow Manipulator" which, if it worked correctly, would make it much easier for them to harness the Constants natural magic, though there were a few crucial pieces that he was missing. 

He also tried to think about all of the treasure and unknown creatures that might reside within the cave. Maxwell had told the group of survivors a little about the caves underneath their feet, about how they held great treasure and even greater threats, and even the ruins of the ancient civilisation that had lived in the Constant before their downfall, but that it was too dangerous for them to go there yet. But when they eventually decide to take the plunge, they could find a great many resources that could aid them in their quest to escape. Yet every time he tried to think about where he could find those pieces, or tried to think of other ways he could improve his existing machines, or even about whatever mysteries the cave he found himself stuck in may hold, his mind kept returning to one crucial fact.

Right now, he was alone.

And for some reason, it was bothering him.

 _Your being ridiculous Wilson,_ He thought. _This isn't the first time I've been on my own, and I doubt it'll be my last._

 _But this is different._ Another part of him supplied. _This is **wrong.**_

And, now that he thought about it, that was true. He thought about how he had been alone at school. How he had been alone at the university, both during his studies and after he'd gotten a job there. And, how he had been alone when he lived in his family's cabin. Now that he thought about it, he never really _wanted_ to be alone, he just kind of... _was._

OK, school he could understand. Looking back on his childhood, he could understand why he didn't have any friends. He was definitely the 'weird kid', seeing as when other children would be playing in between their studies, Wilson would either be trying to smuggle a textbook out to try and continue his reading, or he would be trying to find different species of fauna or flora to document and dissect. His interest into science and the world around him had started quite early on in his life. And he was, quite obviously, ostracised because of it. No one wanted to hang out with the kid who tore bugs apart for fun.

Then, when he went to study at the university, he had been looked down upon by his peers, due to him being much younger that everyone else. After all, most every other student there had been in their early to mid 20's, whilst Wilson had been 16 when he had been accepted. That on its own would have been enough for his peers to dislike him, but it got worse when it was discovered that he had the highest grades in all of his classes. So, younger _and_ smarter? Yeah, easy to say the other students didn't care for him much. That, and everyone seemed to think that the only reason he got into the university in the first place was because he father was a professor there. Again, he was ostracised by those around him.

Even when he had got a job at the university as a professor, he was looked down upon by the others who worked there for the same reasons. That, and because his research wasn't exactly... How should he put it? _Orthodox_. He had quickly come to the conclusion that, rather than study more known or proven areas of science, such as biology, chemistry or physics, Wilson was going to study magic. Or, in his own terms, he was going to prove once and for all whether or not magic really existed. As expected, it went down about as well as a lead balloon, and again led to Wilson being regarded as a weirdo, or an 'eccentric' as his mother would say, and being left to his own devices.

Ah, and that was another thing wasn't it? His family. 

_Do they even know i'm gone? Have they checked? Or have they just assumed I've run off again._ Wilson stared into his small campfire, feeding it twigs every now and again to keep the dark at bay. _I hope they're OK._

He thought of his younger brother, Albert. Though they weren't interested in the same things, with Wilson being more academic and Albert being more active, they had been relatively close when they were children. With only two years separating them, he supposed it was only natural. But of course, people grow up and grow apart, and when Albert had joined the police force, and then later become a private investigator, him and Wilson had drifted. The last time Wilson had spoken to him in person had been a good year or two before he had been dragged though the doorway, constructed under Maxwell guidance.

_Albert would do great here. Could probably make surviving look easy._

Wilson scoffed.

_No, Al wouldn't have been tricked in the first place._

There was also his little sister, Caroline. God how he missed her. While him and Albert had been close due to age and not much else, him and Caroline had been close due to her being much more interested in his work, and the two always encouraging each other in whatever it was they were pursuing at the time. Wilson definitely took the role of protective older brother seriously with her, always ready to lend an ear should she need it. But Caroline was much better at being social than Wilson, and when their family threw parties she was always the centre of attention, leaving Wilson to watch on the fringes. Then she had gotten engaged. Wilson had been elated of course, his baby sister was getting married! But that also left him on the side lines as she spent more and more time with her fiancee and her lady friends as they planned and chattered about her big day, with her eventually moving in with the man.

Last but not least was his parents. His mother adored him, loved all of her children. She had encouraged his pursuit into whatever field of study caught his attention with boundless enthusiasm, always saying he was doing the Wagstaff line proud. But, and he was beginning to think there was _always_ a but, she had the house and the maids to run, so she was always disappearing for long periods of time, even when he was a child, leaving himself and his siblings in the hands of nannies and waitstaff.

Wilson shuddered.

And then there was his father. His father loved him, he knew that, he had fond memories of fishing trips, and play forts, and even a half-remembered camping trip, thanks to which small amount of skills and half-listened to advice he had managed to pick up had helped him _survive_ in this hellhole. But, and there was that but again, his father had also demanded that if he was going to pay for Wilson to go to university, then he was going to at least take a minor in medicine and biology. _You can't just pick whatever fleeting fancy takes you at the time! For god's sake Wilson, how are you supposed to get a job when you just keep inventing **useless** machines._

Though admittedly, the medical knowledge had definitely helped him in the long run, just not in the way his father had intended. Not to mention when he had told him about getting the position at the university. _Just don't bring the opinion of the rest of us down with you._ And then, when his father and the board had grown tired with just rejecting his plans and grant requests in order to further his investigation into the arcane, Wilson vividly remembers walking into his office only to find three orderlies from the local asylum waiting for him with a straight jacket, and his father assuring him that it was for the best.

So, he had ran. He remembers hastily packing as much of his personal items and projects from the family house as he could, as well as the spare money he kept under the floorboards of his room in case of emergencies, and driving as far away from his father as he could. Though he admittedly didn't get too far before his brain kicked in again, and he began to panic about where he would stay. He refused to be homeless, and he absolutely wouldn't go back just to be thrown into the nuthouse. So he had sat in his car on the side of the road and thought. The memory of his grandmothers old cabin had struck him then, and he had sped off before he could change his mind.

The place had been practically derelict, with the wood rotting and the windows covered in muck from years of disuse. His grandmother, bless her heart, had left the cabin to both sides of his family, in the hopes that it could be used as a holiday home for everyone to use and enjoy after she had passed, and to bring both sides closer together. Obviously, that didn't happen, as the Higgsbury's and the Wagstaff's quite openly hated each other. Both sides had agreed that it needed an upgrade after his grandmother had died, but neither was willing to spend money on a house that the other was going to use for free.

So, it had been left abandoned.

And it had become Wilson's saving grace

Wilson had wasted no time in converting the rotten structure into a state that could pass as _liveable,_ had stuck up a number of signs outside to tell any nosy villages nearby to keep away, and had practically locked himself away in order to continue his research. And he had stayed that way, with only the occasional letter to and from his mother, enjoying his self imposed exile and the loneliness that had come with it, until he had heard a strange voice come over his radio. The rest, of course, was history.

Thinking about it now, stuck in a cave who-knows-how-deep underground, with only a measly campfire to keep the nightmares away, Wilson is beginning to realise that maybe, just maybe, he never enjoyed being alone as much as he first thought. Because everything had _changed_ when he had been brought to the Constant.

Suddenly, Wilson had _friends._

The other survivors _valued_ his contributions. They _listened to him_ when he had concerns or worries and even when he rambled on about some new idea or hypothesis he had, instead of tuning him out or telling him to be quiet, they actually _joined in_ and voiced their own ideas and theories. God, they _cared,_ in a way that he hasn't experienced before, about his well being and health, not just because he was useful or because he was family, but because they _liked_ him. And in return, Wilson had grown to care deeply for their rag-tag group of survivors, more than he has cared about _anything_ in his life. Even science!

Like Wolfgang and Wes, who will put on impromptu performances some nights after a bad day, just to cheer everyone up. Or Wigfrid, the loud and loyal viking, who will gladly fight to the death to protect any one of the survivors, and actually going through with her promise a few times. Or Wickerbottom, an old family friend who had been dragged into the Constant as well, who still challenges his understanding of the world, and still nannies him like she used to when he was young. Woodie, the cheerful lumberjack who even in the midst of his curse, will still do anything to help the group, and will gladly lend a shoulder to cry on. And Wendy and Abigail, who while sombre and pessimistic, still _try_ to be positive for those around them when they notice that someone isn't doing well.

And of course there was Webber, whom he _adored._ The small arachnid-child hybrid had quickly attached themselves to Wilson, and he has done everything in his power to keep them safe. From teaching them how to hunt, prepare food safely and weave new items, and even teaching them how to shave after the long winter. The child had even started to call Wilson _Dad_ recently, and he couldn't be prouder.

Even Maxwell, the grumpy, snarky, _asshole_ of a former king, was starting to grow on him. Not too long ago, Wilson would have gladly killed him with his bare hands after everything he put the survivors through, and yet, now that he was free from the throne, the man that Maxwell used to be was starting to shine through. He and Wilson still traded barbs, but when Wickerbottom was busy with other projects, Wilson had started to go to him for advice and ideas, and had even started to learn more about his past. He might even hazard to say that they had become something close to _friends_

And Willow.

God, what could he _say?_

She was like a force of nature, quick to anger, prideful and stubborn to a fault, and yet fiercely loyal and protective of those she had deemed trustworthy. She burned with a passion that could rival his own, and when she set her mind to something, Wilson was sure that she would never stop until she achieved it. She was beautiful, and witty and kind and _immune to fire._ She regularly takes naps in the bonfire in the middle of their camp, emerging covered in soot, wreathed in flames like a goddess and Wilson was absolutely _smitten._

_When I get out of here, I'm going to tell her how I feel. God I hope I can get out of here. Please, don't let me be trapped, not on my own God **please.**_

Wilson sat in front of his measly fire, thinking of his friends and the incredible impact they have made upon his life in such a short span of time, and his heart began to _ache,_ because they were up on the surface, and he was down here, _alone_ and he _hated_ it. Now that he has something to compare his life to, he realised how much he _hates_ being alone. God, how had he ever been able to tolerate this? With nothing but the darkness and the slow dripping of water off stalactites deeper in the cavern and his own thoughts running rampant, he truly wonders how on earth he _ever_ tolerated working and living _alone_...

Wilson didn't realise he was crying until he felt tears drop onto his hands, which he had unknowingly clenched on top of his trouser legs. Once he had realised this, it was like the flood gates had opened, and he began to openly sob. He couldn't remember the last time he had cried. He hadn't cried when his grandmother had passed, or when his grant permission was always, ultimately denied. Not when he had ran from his family home, afraid of what his father would do to him in the name of _knowing whats best._ Not when he first awoke in the Constant, and not even when he had first died, being torn apart by an enemy he couldn't see in the dark. But he cried now, because he had come to the horrible, bone-chilling conclusion, that perhaps no matter what he did, he was always going to end up alone.

And that one thought, that one _disgusting_ thought, was enough to throw him over an edge he hadn't even realised he had been approaching.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there, sobbing into the dark and curling into himself in front of a dying fire, his injuries long forgotten. Somewhere in the darkness behind him, there was a distant shuffling sound that echoed through the cave. Wilson ignored it, hoping that whatever lay beyond his small circle of safety would either leave him alone, or kill him quickly. The shuffling came again, closer this time, but he only curled tighter into himself. _Just get it over with. I've had enough of your sick games._

"...son?"

Wait.

Was that?

"Wilson!"

A voice. _Willow's voice._ If he wasn't already crying, Wilson think's he would have started crying tears of joy. _They came to find me._

"Here!" He croaked out, his voice sore and his nose stuffy after his bout of crying. He wiped his face haphazardly on his sleeve, not caring about the mess he was undoubtedly making. "I'm here!"

He stood then, and suddenly remembered _why_ he was down here in the first place, as he accidentally tugged at his injured side, his ribs beginning to ache anew. _Right. Bearger attack. Forgot about that._ In the distance, he could just make out the dim light of a torch, and the shadows of the people that were following it. Not bothering to wait, Wilson took the torch that he had first used when he had fallen, lit it in his campfire, and walked into the darkness, moving as fast as his injured body would allow him. _I've had enough of this place._

Wilson wadded through the dark, tripping on the uneven floor every now and again, but he didn't _care._ His friends had _come for him. _They had fought off a savage beast that could kill all of them twice over, and delved into the horrid depths of the world they had come to reside in, just to find him. And as he came closer to the other point of light, he could see the small group that had made the journey just for his sake.__

Wolfgang, Maxwell and Willow, each of them sporting their own grazes and injuries from the attack, but still making the effort to traverse the caves to find the misplaced scientist.

"There you are! Sorry for the wait, we had to find another way in since the big lug landed on the sinkhole when it died." Relief was evident in Willow's voice as the two light sources got closer, Willow lowering hers as he came to stand in front of the group. "Man, hope the fall wasn't to- Jeez. You look like shit."

That was probably true. Wilson could imagine the state he must be in, his sides haphazardly bandaged, snot and tear streaks on his face, and covered from head to toe in dust and debris. But at that moment, with his friends in front of him, each with a different face of concern, Wilson couldn't have cared less. He lunged forward, fresh tears making their way down his face, and pulled Willow into a crushing hug, his torch long forgotten.

"I m-missed you!" He sobbed into Willow's shoulder, suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. "I-I thought that yo-you weren't going to find me an-and that i'd b-be alone _forever!_ " He pushed his face further into the space between her shoulder and neck, most definitely getting snot and tears on her sweater.

"Whoa! Wilson, you've only been down here for like, an hour, what's up with you?" Willow gently pried Wilson off of her shoulder, keeping a hold of him in case he sprang forward again.

"Wh-what?"

"Is true tiny man!"

Wilson looked up as Wolfgang came closer, placing a large hand gently on his shoulder. Somewhere along the line he'd taken the torch from Willow, holding it aloft. 

"With help from friends, big monster was no match for mighty Wolfgang!" Wolfgang flexed his arms above his head for emphasis."Then, we find new cave hole in meadow and see your fire. It has been no time at all."

"Wh-what? No, it-its been **hours!** A-and I've been waiting for you, but you took so _long_ and I-I thought that you weren't coming for me or that something bad had happened, a-and I feel so _bad_ and I can't stop _crying_ -"

"It's the caves"

"H-huh?"

Wilson and the others turned to look at Maxwell, Wilson trying to dry his eyes with the ends of his shirt sleeves.

"The caves cause your sanity to drop rapidly, due to their lack of light and proximity to the ruins. It's one of the reasons I said that we're not ready to be down here yet." Maxwell huffed. "And I doubt falling and hurting yourself would have done anything to improve your mental state. Once we get you back to the camp and you've had some mushroom stew, you should be fine."

"Oh." _Why didn't I think of that? A drop in sanity definitely explains the sudden mood drop, warped time and the irrational thoughts. Not to mention the fear of abandonment._ The rational part of his brain helpfully supplied. But Wilson wasn't really thinking rationally at the moment. "P-please take me home now. I _really_ don't like this place.

"Yeah, no offence but we really need to get you cleaned up." Willow looked at her shoulder. "Me too now."

"Sorry..."

"Wolfgang will show the way!" The strongman shouted, holding his hand in a point above his head. "Entrance is this way!" He then turned on the ball of his foot and started to walk back the way Wilson had seen the group approach, moving between two stalagmites, with the rest of them following quickly so as to not get left in the dark. Wilson stayed near Willow, finding comfort in the proximity, though he could tell that she was ready to jump to the side if he tried to hug her again.

They wandered in silence for a bit with Wolfgang happily leading the way, before Maxwell asked him what kind of injuries he had sustained in the attack and subsequent fall. Wilson had thankfully stopped crying at this point, only sniffling occasionally, and had started to tell the magician what he knew about his wounds when Wolfgang interrupted them.

"We are here!" Wilson stopped and looked in front of him, to suddenly find himself and the other to be standing in a pool of light, with a rope suspended in front of them. He then looked up, following the rope with his eyes until it disappeared over the lip of the hole that announced the exit to the surface above. Wilson felt a smile grow across his face, relief flooding his system, before a thought suddenly occurred to him and his smile fell.

"Wait! I can't climb _that!_ " Wilson pointed to the rope.

"What do you mean you "can't climb that"! I thought you we're the one who wanted to get out of here?" He turned to Willow to find her with her hands on her hips, a pout on her face.

"I do! But with my injuries, it'd be near impossible for me to climb that high, let alone be able to hoist myself off the ground." He tapped his chin, a habit he had picked up to help himself think. "Maybe... you could hoist me up after you. Or maybe there's another way up..."

"Don't worry Tiny man! Wolfgang will carry you!

Without warning, Wilson felt himself leave the ground for the second time that day, Wolfgang gently lifting him up with his hands tucked underneath his armpits.

"Wha-hey!"

Then, with more care than Wilson expected from a man Wolfgang's size, he found himself tucked into the strongman's side, supported by one of his large arms and his head cradled in the other man's neck. _Wow, I keep forgetting how **big** Wolfgang is. I feel like a child again._ He also heard Willow snicker from in front of him, her hand over her mouth. Wilson tried to give her an appropriate glare, but given his situation and how he must look, he only caused her to laugh at him more.

"Hold on tight, will be on ground very soon!" And with that, they were off, Wolfgang practically launching himself towards the surface with the speed he was climbing the rope at, leaving Wilson no choice but to follow his advice and latch onto the other man, his arms wrapping around Wolfgang's neck for stability. The ride was bumpy, and Wilson winced as his injured side was jostled, hissing through gritted teeth every now and again but very soon he heard bird song and smelt grass above him. Then, they emerged, and Wilson was temporarily blinded by the sudden influx of light.

He then felt himself being gently placed back onto the ground. He blinked, his eyes adjusting back to being above ground, and found himself standing in the middle of a lush meadow, flowers dotting the landscape and bees flying back and forth lazily as they went about their duties. A small ways from were he stood, he spotted the remains of the Bearger lying crumpled on top of what he assumed was whatever was left of the crevasse he had fallen through. A little further, he could also make out the vague shapes of Wickerbottom, Wigfrid and Woodie milling about, most likely deciding what the best way to cut up the beast was to get the best resources. Waste not what not after all.

Wilson couldn't help it. He started to laugh.

At first, it sounded more like wheezing, but it quickly became a loud laugh that he felt with all his body. His ribs yelled at him to stop, and his side ached something _awful_ but... He was _out._ And that was such a relief that, momentarily, he didn't care about his injuries and the time it would take for them to heal, or the experience he had had in the cave. He spread his arms out, closed his eyes and just... _felt_ the sun as it warmed his beaten and broken body, a large grin spread across his face. Then, he felt a hand fall onto his shoulder, Wilson turning his head to see Wolfgang, a look of concern etched onto his face.

"Is Tiny man OK?"

Was he? He dropped his arms, looking at the worry on Wolfgang's face, and then just past him. Willow was standing at the edge of the sinkhole, laughing at Maxwell and trying to offer her help, even as he stubbornly clawed at the edge of the entrance in an attempt to hoist himself up, cursing the whole way. His smile was smaller now, more fond.

"Yeah... I think i'm going to be fine."

It was dark now, the fire in the middle of the camp blazing with Willow's help, and Wilson was feeling _much _better.__ Maxwell had been right, though he'd never tell _him_ that. The mans ego was big enough as it was without him adding to it. After a hastily made green mushroom stew, some time sat in front of the fire, and some time with what the survivors had lovingly name 'The Insanity Blanket' draped over his shoulders, Wilson's mood had stabilised and his mind had cleared. Wickerbottom had re-wrapped his wounds after disinfecting them with honey poultice and had ordered him to at least _try_ and take it easy, though they both new he probably wouldn't.

The other survivors had swarmed over him the moment he had set foot in the base, different voices all clamouring at once and everyone practically climbing over each other to make sure that he was alright. At the very least, with everyone so concerned for his safety, it had helped to set his mind at ease after he had spiralled in the caves. _Nothing like a small mental breakdown to make you appreciate your friends._

Now, Wilson walked along the edge of the camp, towards the furthest tent from the centre. While his sanity had returned to normal, he still thought about what had happened while he had been underground. There had been some merit in his pondering down there, and he had had a sort of epiphany in his resulting musings, so he had decided to pay a visit to the grumpy former-king.

He found Maxwell sitting on top of a log in front of his tent, reading the Codex Umbra by the small amount of light that made it this far from the campfire, enough to keep Charlie away but not else. _How many times has he read that book? He_ must _know everything in it by know._

"Higgsbury." He closed the book and put it away in his waistcoat, his signature jacket discarded somewhere, looking up when Wilson stood directly in front of him. "Good to see you've regain your wits. And to what do I own the pleasure of your company tonight? I would've thought that you'd prefer to stay close to the others after you little adventure."

"Actually, that's what I wanted to talk to you about." Wilson sat on the ground not too far from the brit, picking absentmindedly at a patch of grass.

"Oh?" There was humour in his voice, though Wilson could detect curiosity there as well.

"Yes. You see, whilst I was down there, my thoughts drifted onto what my life was like before I came here..."

"You mean before I kidnapped you?" Wilson rolled his eyes. _Ah, blunt as ever._

"Yes, but please don't interrupt me. Anyway," He paused, struggling to find the words. But he knew if he didn't tell Maxwell now, then he wouldn't have the courage to later. "Before I came here, all I ever did was lock myself inside my house and pour over my experiments. Day in and day out it was the same, even before I was chased from the university, and I was complacent in living my life that way. I was utterly alone and miserable, and I didn't even realise it because I had no other time in my life to compare it to."

Wilson looked up then, staring into Maxwell's eyes. When he had first started talking, thinly concealed mirth had covered his face, but now confusion had taken its place.

"What i'm trying to say is... Thank you. For bringing me here."

...

"You _**what?"**_

"Er..."

_"You want to **thank** me?!_

Maxwell suddenly got to his feet, grabbing hold of Wilson's arm and practically dragged him up with him.

"Wh-hey, what are you doing!" Wilson tired to tug his arm back, but Maxwell's grip on his upper forearm was a lot stronger than he had expected. That and he didn't want to get anymore cuts getting his shirt snagged on the other man's claws. He found himself being dragged along as Maxwell marched towards the campfire in the centre of the base, grim determination on his face.

"I'm taking you to Wiclerbottom because _clearly_ your sanity is worse than we thought. Do you even hear yourself? You're gonna sit by the fire, and you're gonna wear a flower crown and eat mushrooms until you've come to your senses, and realised _exactly_ what just came out of you mouth. 

"Maxwell stop! My sanity is fine!" He was able to pry the other mans claws off of his arm and moved a small ways to the side, bracing himself to dodge in case Maxwell tried to grab him again. "Just... _listen-_

"I'm not listening to _anything_ you say until I get you checked over. Now, come here!"

Maxwell made to grab for him again, but Wilson was able to dodge to the left, narrowly avoiding the taller mans long reach. Maxwell continued to grab for him, but whenever he was able to get a grip on some of his clothing or his wrists, Wilson was able to use his smaller frame to his advantage to slip out of his grasp.

"Maxwell! I know you're concerned but-"

"Higgsbury, _stop-_ "

"Will you just-"

"Do you always have be so damn _difficult-"_

They continued to dance around each other in the shadow of the tents until Wilson's side began to ache again, and he had had enough of the other mans attempts to help him. _I know he told me not to do this, but desperate measures..._

_**"William!"**_

Maxwell froze like a deer in the headlights, his clawed hands gently grasping both of Wilson's wrists in front of himself. Wilson stared up at the other, making no move to take his hands back, but instead taking in the expression of shock on the magicians face.

"I know that after everything we've been through here it might seem crazy, but I mean it. _Thank you."_ He watched Maxwell's face, watched as it shifted and twisted through a number of different expressions at his words, from anger to concern before settling on confusion.

"What the _hell_ are you talking about. Are you really _thanking_ me for _kidnapping and manipulating_ you and forcing you to live in a _near-inhospitable_ pocket dimension for the entertainment of ageless, _unfathomable_ shadow beings!?

"I... Well when you put it like _that-"_

__"Wilson..." Maxwell finally released his wrists and rubbed his face with his hands. He sounded tired. "Where is this coming from all of a sudden?" His hands dropped to his sides, exposing the large bags under his eyes that had been hidden by the bad lighting near his tent. He suddenly looked much older, and Wilson was reminded of the long amount of time that he had been forced to sit on the throne._ _

"I just thought that... that if you hadn't brought me here, i'd either still be living in that rotten cabin by the cliffs, or my father would've finally found out were I was and thrown me into the asylum." He sighed, looking towards where the campfire and the other survivors were. "And then I never would have met you, or everyone else here." He turned back towards Maxwell, "And meeting them has been the best thing to have ever have happened to me."

Wilson smiled.

"So... Thank you."

A harsh sound came out of Maxwell's mouth that was halfway between a laugh and a scoff. His hand came up to rub at his eyes before he let it drop to his hip, and turning his attention back to Wilson, a look of utter disbelief on his face. _I've never seen_ that _look on his face before._

"You really are crazy, you know that?" It was amazing that even when he sounded fond, Maxwell still found managed to insult him. "You're welcome I guess..." Though, he swore he could see a ghost of a smile there too. He glanced over Wilson's head. "Ah, I was wondering when someone was going to show up."

Wilson spun around, seeing Willow leaning against a tent support a few feet behind him, her red sweater discarded.

"Well yeah, I thought you might be trying to kill each other again, what with all the yelling." She pushed off the support and sauntered over to where the two stood. "My bet's on Max by the way, no offence Wils."

"Non taken." He breathed a laugh. "I don't think I could fight anyone even if I wanted to.

"What was it that got you two so heated anyway? All I heard was-" 

"Well!" Maxwell started, clapping his hands together to get their attention. "Now that your here, it would be just _lovely_ if you took Mr Higgsbury back to the fire, so that I can be left in _peace._ " He didn't wait for an answer, and swiftly turned and walked back into the relative dark towards his tent, ducking inside without a backwards glance. Willow huffed at his side.

"Drama queen. If he didn't wanna talk, he coulda just _said."_ She turned to Wilson, a smile tugging at her lips. "Guy properly needs to catch up on his beauty sleep. Come on, Wes managed to make s'mores!" She started to walk back to the campfire, but stopped a step or two in front of him, holding her hand out."Well, you comin'? 

Wilson stared at the offered hand, eyes darting from it to Willow's face and then back again as he felt heat rising to his face. He gently took her hand in his own.

"Yes... Yes, that sounds lovely." Then the two walked, hand in hand, towards the warmth of the fire and the sounds of laughter that drifted from it.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy! This is my first dont starve fic, so if you have any advice, id love to know! Let me know if you want to read more like this. I wrote most of this in one day, so hopefully its not got many mistakes. Thanks for reading!


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